Vigil

to Sarah

I am no longer young. I know what we love,

we will lose. Your head resting in my lap

as you hold your newborn to your open breasts,

milk scent, mown hay. Snow falls

beneath the street lamp’s glow,

flutter of her eyelashes as you nurse her into dreams

of light and shadow. I read in the tow of candles

we lit to mark this evening’s coming.

With my free hand I gloss dark waves of your hair.

All I want is to unknot what anchors you here,

to ease you into sleep. If I could read the notes

of your new mother’s heartbeat

that I feel against my thighs,

they’d be a lullaby –

          Don’t be afraid. We love

what we will lose. I am not young anymore.

Your body sighs, you slip

into sleep’s undertow,

the anchor rope,

tossed to shore.